I had just turned five. Most of the year had been spent with the Gentle Fist quite literally beaten into me—muscle torn, then healed and rebuilt, over and over again, thanks to my handy little healing factor. Painful? Sure. But it gave me strength and stamina far beyond what a kid my age should've had.
Recently, Haruto moved me on to the Eight Trigrams, officially declaring my Gentle Fist "passable." Not "good," not "excellent"—just "passable." Months of relentless training and all I got was a pat on the back and a grunt.
The Eight Trigrams isn't just one technique, despite what the name might make you think. There's a whole series of them: Sixteen Palms, Thirty-Two Palms, and so on. Most people know about Eight Trigrams: Revolving Heaven—the one Neji was called a genius for—but apparently, that move is exclusive to the clan head and heir. Haruto made that very clear.
A shame. Creating a dome of spinning chakra looked awesome. But honestly? Probably a chakra hog. Better to not get hit in the first place. I shelved it for later and focused on the stuff I actually had access to.
"The Eight Trigrams rely on the Hyuga's innate ability to expel chakra from every tenketsu in their body—" Haruto droned on.
Blah blah blah.
He could seriously talk forever. And he explained things like I was dense—like my brain hadn't fully booted up yet. I considered asking for a different teacher at one point. But Haruto's the best taijutsu expert in the clan outside the head. So I sucked it up and mentally braced myself for years of stoic lectures and long-winded rants.
Eventually, my one-on-one time with Haruto was cut short to make room for a new kind of torture: reading, math, calligraphy, and worst of all, the clan's history lessons. Propaganda central.
Thankfully, there were no tests. That gave me time to keep training on my own and think up ways to push ahead.
One of those ideas? Weights. Or better yet—weighted seals.
The elders actually approved it. But then my mother showed up, seemingly out of nowhere, and vetoed the idea with a soft but firm, "No… you'll stunt his growth."
She turned and walked off without another word, leaving a very nervous-looking Haruto in her wake.
I just sighed.
Did she actually care? Hard to say. Not worth thinking about. I let it go.
Time passed. My taijutsu kept improving—fast. Reading and writing? Not so much. But I kept grinding away. Eventually, I reached a point where the clan decided I was ready for the Academy and, in my mother's words, "wouldn't embarrass the Hyuga."
A glowing endorsement, truly.
The Academy was bigger than I expected. Classic tree out front with a swing on it. Giant fire kanji (火) posted at the top of the central tower. I gave my mother a quiet "goodbye" and walked inside.
Fun fact: I didn't know the Hokage's office was in the same building. Guess it's a security thing—keep the next generation close.
The classrooms were unnecessarily large with high ceilings. Probably to avoid triggering a PTSD meltdown in the chunin teachers. I chuckled at the thought while I claimed the classic protagonist seat: back corner, by the window.
I was hoping for some epic entrance ceremony. A speech from the Hokage about the Will of Fire or something. Nope. Just a grumpy genin checking names and pointing to classrooms.
I ignored the squealing 5-year-olds around me and zoned out.
Lately, I'd been reading a book my mother gave me. It was about a ninja protecting a wealthy merchant family. They were hiding in a secret room, trying to stay quiet… but the family had a baby. And the baby wouldn't stop crying.
So the ninja snapped the baby's neck.
And they still got caught anyway.
Bleak, right? But I got the point. Sometimes, you'll have to make choices that break you—and they still might not matter. Heavy stuff for a five-year-old, but I appreciated the honesty.
Eventually, the teacher showed up. Just some average-looking guy, quiet, standing at the podium. I glanced around the room—there were some familiar faces. Kakashi. Asuma. And a younger, somehow even weirder-looking Might Guy shouting about youth at full volume.
'Huh. I thought Kakashi was younger than Obito and Rin. Maybe they meet later?'
'Also... why am I the same age as Kakashi? That's suspiciously convenient.'
Probably the handiwork of whatever reincarnated me here.
The days rolled on. Training continued, and so did the classes.
I had the Gentle Fist down, a few Eight Trigrams techniques, and had learned the Mystical Palm and Diagnostic Techniques. But my battle-ready jutsu list was short—too much focus on taijutsu. I needed range.
Kunai and shuriken felt like genin-tier tools, so I left that to the Academy to teach. Instead, I started working on the Vacuum Palm. From what I'd seen, it didn't deal much damage—just shoved people around—but it was officially part of the Eight Trigrams, so it was worth a shot.
I also started thinking about Shadow Clones. Until recently, I didn't have a reason to learn it. But apparently, it's not exactly a secret technique anymore. If my teacher can send a clone to watch us while he takes a dump, I can probably learn it.
When I got home, I asked my mother about it.
She actually answered.
"The Shadow Clone Jutsu allows the user to create one or more copies of themselves. Chakra is evenly divided among the clones, so usually only jonin-level shinobi can use it safely."
...That was the most she'd spoken to me in months.
"Can you teach me? Or have Haruto teach me?"
She shifted, narrowed her eyes. "Hmm... you have enough chakra. I'll show you."
Tiger. Serpent. Ram. Poof.
A Shadow Clone appeared behind her.
"Thanks, Oka-sama," I said quickly, before spinning on my heel and making a quiet escape.
That whole conversation felt... weird. I couldn't shake it.
I sighed, wrote down the hand signs, and started planning how I'd fit Shadow Clone training into my already packed schedule.
Turns out Shadow Clones weren't as hard to learn as I'd expected.
I thought it'd take months. It took a week.
The only reason it didn't take less is because I drained all my chakra on day one and spent three days in bed.
Still, the jutsu wasn't quite the game-changer I hoped. My clones couldn't use my slowed perception, and doing anything that required serious concentration made having more than two active nearly impossible. Technically, I could make five clones, but splitting your focus five ways? Yeah, no thanks.
Even with only two clones, though, it was a win. I could multitask. One clone pestered Haruto to teach me Vacuum Palm. Another grabbed Academy scrolls. And the real me trained my body.
I tried getting along with my classmates. Didn't go great.
I challenged Kakashi to a friendly spar. He throat-punched me. I retaliated by launching him into the air and kicking him into the dirt.
We… haven't spoken much since.
Guy, on the other hand, became a fast friend. We bonded over taijutsu, trained, and sparred together. After school, I joined him and his dad, Duy, for workouts that were ridiculous but surprisingly effective.
Time passed. The year rolled on. We finally started sparring in class.
Until then, most of our time was spent on math, history, and basic ninjutsu, genjutsu, and taijutsu. We also had survival training, which was surprisingly useful. Fire-starting, tracking, how to move without being seen—all stuff I wouldn't have learned otherwise.
At first, sparring was fun. I poked my way through most of the class using Gentle Fist—until they started pairing me with Kakashi.
He throat-punched me again.
But honestly? Kakashi was a great challenge. Fast. Smart. Unpredictable. I had to use my bullet-time perception just to keep up. He'd kick dirt in my eyes, bait me into traps, or suddenly switch up his fighting style. Every fight was a chess match.
And I loved it.
My academy life was solid. I was improving, making friends, building skills.
But I knew it wouldn't last.
The Third Shinobi War was probably less than a year away. And I didn't feel ready.
Sure, I could beat most genin. Maybe escape from a chunin. But against a jonin? I'd be dead.
I'd hoped to be stronger by now. But maybe that wasn't realistic. Still, the anxiety crept in.
I took a deep breath, pushing back the panic.
I was doing fine. I was five. And already at low-genin level.
Worrying wouldn't help.
If I wanted to get stronger, I needed to try again—to awaken my Kaguya bloodline.
This time, with a focus on Yang-heavy chakra.
Let's see where this takes me.